


Blowing the Holes in Doughnuts

by Asterrious



Series: Stories from the Outback [4]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: My Junkrat is always trans, Trans Junkrat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-19
Updated: 2016-07-19
Packaged: 2018-07-25 08:23:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7525396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Asterrious/pseuds/Asterrious
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Junkrat goes out for doughnuts. It ends with bloodshed, carnage, and laughter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blowing the Holes in Doughnuts

**Author's Note:**

> Trigger warning for gore at the end.

Shit had been awkward for a fucking week, and Junkrat wasn’t sure how to make it right again. Hog had been avoiding him, barely grunting when addressed, hardly reacting otherwise. It made for a boring, tense week holed up at the junkyard, riding out the manhunt currently underway. They’d taken down what Jamie later learned was a large corporate office with a few floors dedicated to government work. While the explosion had been beautiful, the dust cloud rose far and wide, and now they were stuck while every single police officer in the city looked for them. He was tired of seeing their mug shots flashed across the television screen as news anchors talked about their motivations and plans, acting like they had any insight into the minds of the Junkers. It would have been good for a laugh, if the silence hadn’t been so thick you could cut it with a knife.

Mostly he’d spent the days hunkered over his explosives, building new ones and tampering with old recipes, experimenting with adding more of one chemical or a nother, just to see what would happen. Junkrat was experienced enough to know that none of his tinkering would set off a large blast- it was just harmless fun, a way to pass the time. Every so often a smoke cloud would rise from his bed and circle his head, adding yet another layer of soot to his dirty face and making him cough. His lungs had been bad, ever since the day he lost his arm, and he was starting to think that would never go away.

It was worth it though. With the smoke alarm disabled the second they’d stepped into the room, he could play with his toys to his heart’s content. Roadhog had long since stopped stepping in at these moments, finally secure in the knowledge that whatever else Junkrat did, he would not be blowing them sky high by accident. The thin Junker had noticed the other staring at him in these moments, with the TV replaying footage of the collapsing building over and over again. Stonily watching his fingers nimbly assemble a bomb. Jamie could almost do it without looking, but he never would. It was art.

Several of his pieces of art were packed inside his jacket that day as he made his way down the street, baseball cap pulled as low over his face as it could go and sunglasses shading his eyes. He’d traded the cargo shorts and bomb vest for a tank top, shorts, and a jacket. The last news bulletin had included ‘reliable information’ that the both of them had already crossed the border into the next country. With no plans to move for at least a month, Junkrat had taken the minute breather as a chance to go grocery shopping. They were low on food in their little motel room and he’d dug in the bag for a couple hundreds of cash and tossed a “Back inna hour,” at Hog as he left. Despite not expecting a reply, the quiet left him in a mood, muttering to himself about bygones and accidents.

No one stopped him on the road and he made sure not to break stride, careful to avoid drawing attention to himself. It wasn’t his best skill, but damn he was hungry- they’d been living on chips and salsa for a couple days now, and he was tired of having to drink from the bathroom sink. As long as he got in and out of the store fast, this should go off without a hitch- Junkrat wondered if Roadhog would say anything at his successful return, and shut that train of thought off with a sharp shake of his head.

As the stained pavement passed beneath his feet, the Junker became aware of a delicious scent floating around the sidewalk. It was hard to place, but he was sure he’d smelled it before. Baked goods and sweet things, both items he hadn’t tasted in a good long time. 

There went the feeble semblance of self-control he’d built. At least he’d brought along bombs and his frag launcher, concealed underneath his jacket in case something went wrong. 

In and out. It would be fast.

The little shop Junkrat ducked into turned out to sell exclusively doughnuts and coffee. It was cleaner than most places he’d been in his life and several people sat at the little tables, munching on doughnuts and scrolling or typing away at their computers. A worker in a red uniform was wiping down the pastel colored counter when Junkrat came in and she smiled at him, calling out a cheery greeting. Immediately, the Junker was suspicious of the place- nothing that looked this picturesque and quaint could mean anything good. 

Nevertheless, he approached the glass display case quickly and shoved his face into it, squinting to read the small labels next to each of the doughnuts. The clerk sputtered and said something about smudging the glass, but he was too absorbed in trying to figure out why someone would have made a coffee doughnut with an espresso chocolate sauce. It sounded like the best thing he’d ever heard of, but he was having trouble figuring out the rest of them: one of them had fruity pebbles crushed overtop of it and another was bright green, smeared a brown sauce. 

“Wha’ the hell kinda doughnuts are they?” Jamie said, straightening up and already beginning to pull out rolls of cash. He could criticize and lust for them at the same time. 

“We, uh… We specialize in artisanal doughnuts, sir. Which one were you asking about?” 

“All of ‘em.”

He’d given up on reading the little signs. They really needed to make those fucking things bigger.

There was a moment’s pause as the clerk gaped at him. Impatiently, he snapped his fingers, shifting from foot to foot with unease. Well, foot to peg leg. While one of his most noticeable features, he wasn’t willing to part with the prosthetic that had already carried him through so much. And it looked cool as shit.  
Staying in one place like this was making him antsy and the clerk apparently picked up on it as she quickly bent to read the labels aloud to him, each finger pointing out a particular doughnut.

“That’s nutella and bacon right there…” She said, and he once again pressed his face against the glass, breath fogging up the sparklingly clean display. 

“I wan’ 3 of ‘em.” Junkrat said before she’d even finished speaking, and she nodded, turning to write down the order on a pad of paper.

But the Junker wasn’t done. “Gimmie like, one of all of ‘em too, and I want three of the coffee ones. And a vanilla and chocolate latte with three shots of expresso. Oh! And uh, um…” He trailed off, trying to remember Roadhog’s usual coffee order. Maybe he’d talk if Rat brought it back for him. The clerk wrote frantically in the silence.

“A decaf peppermint mocha with cinnamon!” His mechanical arm slapped down on the counter as he danced faster from foot to foot, excited at both the prospect of doughnuts and how thoughtful he was being. The best fucking partner in the world- that was him.

It caused a bit of a commotion and the people in the seats who weren’t wearing headphones turned to look at the overexcited man, frowning at someone making a scene. Junkrat paid them no mind of course, watching the girl behind the counter scramble to fold a few cardboard boxes for the doughnuts. He was lucky it was still early in the morning; if they had been sold out of anything he’d asked for, he’d have been pissed. 

Once three boxes had been made, she picked them from the display case one by one, with a slowness that was agonizing. He could practically taste the espresso drizzle, and he snapped his fingers again. No thought was paid to the fact that he’d gone out to get actual supplies- no, all he could think about was trying the fancy-ass doughnuts and drinking his liquid energy. 

If he hadn’t been so distracted by the doughnuts, Junkrat might have taken a little more time to look around the room before approaching the counter. Almost a year of living with Roadhog around had made him less paranoid about being attacked. The possibility was always there, of course, but he didn’t have to peer underneath every table for someone with a knife and a grudge. Slowly he’d gotten out of the habit of scanning every room he stood in. Hog usually took care of that. And while Jamie normally couldn’t stop the flow of sensory input from the world around him, he’d gotten better at ignoring it.

In the corner of the café, a tv was set up on a little table in front of a couch and a coffee table. The whole setup was very homey, with little flowering houseplants on both sides of the set and the volume low so that the other customers weren’t disturbed. As the clerk handed him one of the espresso doughnuts instead of putting it in the box, the man sitting on the couch casually flipped the channel from a nature program to the morning news. As Junkrat licked the icing clean off the pastry before shoving it whole into his mouth, his mug shot once again flashed across the screen along with identifying characteristics. Pulling the wad of hundreds from his pockets, he laid two of them on the counter, not bothering to see what his total actually came out to. The clerk gaped, shut her mouth, and turned to begin making the coffees. The man at the couch quietly rose from his seat and walked out of the shop, dialing 911 as soon as he thought he was out of Junkrat’s earshot.

Junkrat juggled the tray of coffee and the boxes of doughnuts carefully as he walked out of the shop, leaving the clerk the biggest tip she was ever likely to receive. Whistling as he walked, he swung his head from side to side, casually glancing around before he started back towards the motel. A man slid past him, avoiding touching the taller, lanky man at all costs and Junkrat registered that his skin was pasty white and clammy.

Even within the good mood that had sprung out of this trip, alarm bells began to ring inside his head.

“Oi!” He shouted, turning on his heel in an instant to catch the man before he slipped back inside the doughnuts shop. One hand on the door, the other clenched tight around his phone, he inhaled a shaky breath. 

“Yeah, you mate. Ya don’ look so hot.”

Junkrat crept closer, suspiciously studying the man’s trembling back. Inside, patrons looked up from their work, raising an eyebrow at the spectacle of a man stopped just outside the doors. 

“What’s goin’ on?” He said, stopping a few inches from the man’s back. He didn’t have a free hand to grab his frag launcher or a grenade, but a manic tone had begun to creep into his voice. An early warning sign of danger; it was obvious this guy knew who he was. Junkrat just had to figure out who exactly he’d called.

But before he could decide how best to extract the information, the man bolted, yanking open the door to the shop and sprinting inside. Not so quick on his feet, the Junker tried to follow him and ended up simply smacking into the glass, ricocheting back with a yelp. The doughnuts slipped from his hand, the boxes crashing against the ground as he barely managed to hold on to the hot cups of coffee. Instantly the small man flew into a rage, a grin to match the mania bubbling behind his eyes spreading across his face. Shame Roadie wasn’t there to enjoy what was coming- he always loved the carnage Junkrat could create.

Mechanical fingers slipped into his jacket pockets, palming a few of the grenades he’d brought. The reaction of the people inside was immediate- screams rang out and everyone moved at once, abandoning laptops and phones on the table in favor of racing for the back door of the building. Laughing as they tripped over each other, Junkrat stepped forward, pulling the pin on one of them, ready to throw.

Except he’d forgotten the doughnut jelly smeared all over the floor. His peg leg caught what appeared to be a smear of raspberry and he went sprawling to the ground, blinking stars from his eyes. It wasn’t the first time he’d hit his head on pavement, but it hurt like a bitch every single time. 

“Awwww, fuckin’…” Junkrat sat up, glanced at the coffee to make sure he’d managed to save them- he had- and shot a glare at the people inside the cafe as if they’d personally planted the raspberry there. With a beautiful arc, the grenade soared through the window of the building, shattering glass and rolling to a stop on the clean, wooden floor. Giggling, he scrambled away from the building as fast as his unsteady legs could carry him, listening to the shouts of the people inside. It seemed the backdoor was stuck fast, or maybe locked, or maybe blocked. 

Ducking behind a car in the parking lot, Junkrat dropped the coffees to the floor and shoved his fingers in his ears, mentally counting down until he heard the beautiful explosion and the shattering of the rest of the windows. Immediately the air was laden with dust and soot, and he inhaled it as if it were the finest of perfumes, opening his eyes to what had been a doughnut shop. It was almost worth losing the doughnuts to see something go up in flames. A week was a long time for him to be cooped up and he’d yearned to stretch his fingers.

Unfortunately, there wouldn’t be much time to admire his handiwork. 

Sirens filled the air and he cursed, fumbling for the frag launcher and glad the guy who’d called the cops was now extra crispy. If he hadn’t, Junkrat might have been able to get away, even as the explosion drew law enforcement. But there was no way he was going to outrun sirens that close. Fighting his way out of this situation was his only option, limited resources that he had. 

Longing for his steel traps to pop the cop’s tires, he settled for pulling out all of his grenades, still crouched behind the side of the car. If he had a concussion mine, he’d have been able to launch himself over the nearby fence, hopefully giving him a few seconds, but there was nothing useful. A spare detonator was lodged deep in his pocket and he struggled to pull it out, sure that it would come in handy; he kept it around in case he had to quickly rewire a bomb, but they didn’t have to know that he hadn’t connected it to anything.

At least four squad cars and a SWAT van rolled into the parking at incredible speeds. Junkrat was almost honored at how much of a threat they apparently considered him, but then he reasoned that he had, in fact, caused the collapse of two buildings in one week. Still, it was nice to feel wanted, and he popped above the hood of the car to give them a little wave. The officers had their guns out and pointed straight at him, but he displayed the detonator in his hand proudly and watched them back off, no longer sure about shooting him. The SWAT team poured out of the vehicle, with a commander barking orders that Junkrat was just a little too far away to hear. He grinned as they fanned out along the perimeter of the parking lot, weapons trained squarely on him. His peripheral vision caught a sniper sneaking into a tree at the edge of the concrete and he turned to raise his eyebrows at the man, waggling a finger over the trigger button threateningly. 

It was a miracle the bomb squad hadn’t arrived with these men, but he knew they couldn’t be far behind. They’d sweep the perimeter once they were here, and when they found no explosives wired to go off, they’d either move in or shoot him down.

Quite the dilemma he had there. Once again he was anxiously shifting from foot to foot, watching the law enforcement officers talk amongst themselves. 

“Oi! Ya cunts aren’t the piggies m’used ta hangin’ out with, but I guess you’ll do ‘til the big lug gets here!”

He shouted the taunt with much more confidence than he felt. If Roadhog had heard the sirens or explosion, there was no doubt he’d be on his way; but if he was napping or something, Junkrat couldn’t count on him coming in to save his stupid ass. Letting himself get captured almost seemed like the best option here: less bullets involved anyway, even though there was a possibility they still might shoot him. 

But every instinct he had rebelled against that option, sure that if he was shut away behind prison bars, he’d never leave them again. There were too many people who knew his name, too many people who had heard stories of what he’d found, for him to be able to make it out of there alive without Roadhog as backup. 

Suddenly, fiercely, he felt himself wishing for Hog’s presence. It would have been a lot more fun.

The SWAT commander appeared in his line of sight with a megaphone and he rolled his eyes, ducking back behind the car to take a sip of the coffee he’d abandoned on the ground. It was still scalding hot but he savored the way it burned his tongue, gathering a few of the grenades into his free hand and popping back above the car.

“Jamison Fawkes, you are surrounded. Put the device on the ground and step away from it with your hands behind your head. If you do not comply, we are authorized to use deadly force.”

His answer was a grenade lobbed in the direction of the SWAT van and a shrill “Fuck off!” Junkrat quickly ducked back down as the officers out of the blast radius opened fire and the ones within it scrambled for cover. Again he couldn’t enjoy the explosion he’d made, but he had more pressing things to think about: the sniper nagged in the back of his mind, worrying him to no end. He fucking hated snipers- they brought back bad memories of staying awake for days in the Outback, afraid to sleep in case someone came after him, knowing he might not even see them coming anyway.

He might as well try and make a run for it. If he threw enough grenades in succession, it would kick up a huge cloud of debris and kill a few of the officers. He’d try to scramble away in the chaos and sprint full tilt back to the motel for the rest of his ammunitions and what would surely be a very pissed off Roadhog. God, he was not looking forward to the big guy’s anger- it was silence, like most of Mako’s emotions were, but it was oppressive silence. The kind that forced air from your lungs just by being in it. The kind that signaled bruises and cuts and broken bones.

That last part sort of excited him.

No time like the present.

Crouched behind the car, he hurriedly downed the rest of the coffee, enjoying the sensation of all his taste buds burning off. He had seven bombs left and he hoisted them in his hands, turning back to check through the car window that no one had moved. They were too afraid of what might be lurking around, attatched to the detonator he’d shoved back in his pocket. Distantly, he could hear more sirens, no doubt the bomb squad and more backup. Now or never.

Junkrat had practice throwing these things in rapid succession and he turned as if on a machine, lobbing grenades in every direction. The police officers scattered even before the bombs went off and he took off, sprinting for the fence at the edge of the parking lot. Jumping wasn’t his strong suit without a mine, but he didn’t have much of a choice with the sidewalk and street sealed off by guns. 

Behind him, his bombs went off in a huge explosion and he felt the shockwave rush past him, carrying superheated metal and debris. Junkrat’s skin was littered with cuts and burns but still he ran, picking out the fence looming in front of him. He got ready to jump, already reaching up to snag the top of the fence. He was grateful for his height in times like these.

A shot rang out before he could complete his escape though, and he felt himself fall to the concrete, knocking his head for the second time that day. Pain erupted behind his eyes and his vision was white for a moment, mind swimming as it tried to piece together what had just happened. There was no burning pain of a bullet wound and so he tried to stand as his vision cleared, frantically moving towards the fence. His fingers clawed for the fence but his peg leg refused to move. Looking down, he saw machinery poking out of it where there shouldn’t have been, small sparks flying as gears and joints tried to move and found themselves unable.

The sniper hadn’t shot him- they’d shot his knee out, making him unable to run.  
Had he already mentioned he hated snipers?

With a snarl, the cornered rat whipped the frag launcher out and turned to press his back against the fence. Rising would only make him unsteady and so he remained seated on the pavement, waiting for the officers to arrive- he could already hear their beats against the ground as they picked their way through the destroyed parking lot, flashlights cutting dull paths through the dusty air. 

This was where he was going to die. It was funny how much Junkrat had that thought. Each time he’d meant it though; he’d never been a fan of dying, but it was a realistic part of life in Junkertown, especially for a kid missing a leg. Roadhog had been an attempt to stave it off, even for a little, but he’d fucked that up too, and now he was gonna die at the hands of cops, far from the Outback and home. It wasn’t exactly regret he felt, but it was something that clawed his chest. 

At least he’d die without tits. He’d always hated them, had been glad when they’d found a surgeon to remove them. His top surgery scars were the scars he was most proud of.

As the first police officer came into view, Junkrat opened fire, manic laughter spilling out as he covered the area in bombs. People screamed and scattered once again, but they did not back off- the SWAT team kept moving in, visors blocking his view of their faces and black body armor taking the brunt of the explosions. They almost looked like machines, moving in to take him down. A bullet hit his shoulder and his laughter cut off, the gun dropping from his hand as he lost the ability to use it.

“Fuck a duck, tha’ was me good arm, ya fuckin’ assholes!”

No response, but it wasn’t like he’d expected one from the police. Had no sense of humor or ability to make small talk.

“Lookie here guys, ya caught me! Good on ya, I was getting’ tired of bein’ smarter than you all. Yar lucky Roadie and I’re havin’ a spat or else ya would have gotten a hook ta pull out your jaw for ya.”

He’d seen the sight many times. Roadhog seemed to have the wonderful ability to hit any body part with his chain hook, no matter how small. 

What Junkrat hadn’t been expecting was Hog’s chain to come out of nowhere, hook itself completely through one of the SWAT’s helmets, and rip half the man’s face off just like that. It felt absolutely surreal to watch the flow of blood and the reactions of the officers around him, gaping at their fallen comrade and wildly swinging around to find the threat. The chain flashed out again and this time it crashed through a man’s bowels, hooking around his waist securely. Roadhog yanked him up and over, sending him flying off the hook with a horrible tearing sound. 

The flailing body, trailing guts through the air, smashed into the tree where the sniper had set up, sending both of them crashing to the floor.

Junkrat didn’t think he’d ever smiled so big or ever seen Hog so angry.

Like a tank, the bigger man barreled through the line of officers that had cornered Jamie against the fence, huge scrap gun firing bolts into the people closest to him. They were reacting now, gun’s coming up to defend themselves, but Roadhog’s chain came around again to take another’s head off, the slice clean and quick. 

Hands already blood-drenched, he scooped Junkrat from the pavement and set him on his shoulder, not bothering to stop and ask if he could walk. When he got like this, it was best to let him work it out in silence, and Jamie looped his mechanical hand through Hog’s harness to avoid getting shaken off. Police officers were falling left and right, some managing to get off a few shots before they fell to shrapnel or a chain that had been dyed red. Bullet holes blossomed across Roadhog’s stomach but they did not slow him down as he began to lumber towards the exit. 

The sirens Junkrat had heard earlier arrived in the form of a bomb squad van and about a dozen squad cars, racing up the street with lights flashing. A few at the back skidded to a halt as they saw the pair emerge from the parking lot, absolutely died red with blood. They pulled the cars around to block their exit, officers exiting to stand behind their doors with guns raised, as if that would protect them.

Cars that hadn’t stopped hurtled towards them, police officers stopping inches from the Roadhog as he stood motionless, waiting for them to arrange themselves. The bomb squad had apparently decided they weren’t built for this and backed out of the line of fire, lurking to the side of the road in an attempt not to block the police’s shot.

A good old fashioned western stand-off. Junkrat giggled in Roadhog’s ear as he thought of them in cowboy boots and ten-gallon hats, riding off into the sunset with comically large, golden belt buckles.

The sound of Hog breathing hard jerked him back to reality and he scuttled into action in an attempt to be useful, diving down towards the supply of canisters Hog kept on his belt. He came up with one and climbed up like a monkey to hold it to the intake valve on the mask. Roadhog grunted and inhaled the healing gas deeply as one of the police officers shouted something unintelligible at them, most likely instructions to give up and let themselves be caught.

But that wasn’t fucking likely.

How they made it past the police cars would later become a blur in Jamie’s mind whenever he tried to think about it. He remembered streaks of red and the roaring of gunfire, and Hog’s own answering bellow at they pounded past the barricade. He remembered screaming with laughter as Hog ran straight at one young officer. The boy had bounced off the bigger’s man’s belly and quickly been crushed under steel boots, chest caved in with one stomp. Someone had tried to shoot at Jamie on Hog’s back once they’d had passed him, going for the easiest target. Hog had reacted quickly, swinging around with the chain in hand to take off the hand that held the gun. The man howled in pain and Jamie answered it with a howl of his own, mania reaching the point where it was hard to tell the world around him apart from the broken bits of skull and blood that splashed across his skin. The only constant was Roadhog moving beneath him, ducking into alleys and twisting around street corners, making sure anyone who saw them ended up dead.

Again Junkrat howled as he was tossed in the sidecar of Roadhog’s motorcycle, the bigger man opening up the throttle and rocketing down the highway. The sound continued until Rat broke into hoarse giggles, voice cracking from his screams.

This was the way to do it.


End file.
